A man wearing baggy jeans and construction boots swam into focus. He was standing about five feet away—too close for comfort.
The strap of Maisie’s purse was still over her shoulder, and she clenched her elbow to her waist, in case.
The man, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, was holding a pair of aviator sunglasses. His crew cut suggested he was ex-military. Sharp blue eyes scrutinized her.
He took a step back. “I just wanted to make sure you were fine,” he said apologetically.
“I am. Thank you.”
As soon as he had walked away, she made herself get off the bench.
There was nothing to do but head home and hope she’d find comfort at the bottom of a cheap bottle of wine.
9
The smell of paint greeted Maisie as she opened her front door.
She kicked off her heels and slid her feet into a pair of worn bunny slippers. One of the rabbits was missing both its eyes. She had them somewhere, maybe in a box under the bed, but reattaching them was low on her list of priorities.
After opening a bottle of wine and pouring herself a very full glass, she stripped out of her work clothes and changed into an old, formerly white tank top.
In the living room, she donned the paint-speckled coveralls that were lying atop the stepladder.
All the furniture had been moved into the center of the room and was covered with protective cloth, as was the floor. Despite her best efforts at keeping everything clean, ugly purple-gray paint chips speckled the cloth.
The landlord would be replacing the carpet next. Maisie couldn’t help him with that, but in exchange for doing the painting, she was getting a healthy reduction on her rent.
She swapped the slippers for old sneakers, turned on the radio, and popped the top off the can of white paint.
Some people felt better after long workouts or soaks in the tub, but crossing tasks off her to-do list did the trick for Maisie. She’d been planning to finish up over the weekend.
Well, now she had time. Maybe there were a few other improvements she could talk the landlord into letting her handle.
It sucked to be sprucing the place up for some future owner. The condo had gone on the market just a few days after Maisie gave notice at the call center.
If she’d had the money, she would have bought it in a heartbeat. It was on the top of a five-floor walkup and had bay windows on two corners. The location was quiet. There wasn’t much of a view, but the few trees outside were tall enough that if she moved eight feet back from the windows, she could pretend she was next to a forest.
Even if she could have afforded the asking price, the condo fees were almost three-quarters of what she paid in rent.
If she hadn’t been fired from LB&B, she could have afforded it, though her budget would have been stretched thin. Now, that was out of the question.
She dipped the paintbrush into the bucket and climbed the short ladder.
The sun was dipping behind the neighboring buildings by the time she was willing to take a break. Her arms, neck, and shoulders ached—the ladder wasn’t tall enough; it was only marginally better than standing on a chair.
That glass of wine was still waiting in the kitchen: her reward for not doing anything crazy, like going to a bar and picking up some strangers.
The thought of having sex with anyone ever again made her feel sick. Ethan hadn’t just taken away her job and her financial stability. He’d also fucked up her dating life.
In less than two weeks, those three men had changed her. Through their dominance, she’d learned how fulfilling it was to submit. And more, she’d learned how it felt to want someone so bad that it ached.
She stripped off her paint-splattered coveralls and draped them over the ladder. There wasn’t any point to getting dressed again—she wasn’t going out tonight.
No, tonight it was just her, the small television in her bedroom, and that bottle of wine.
The glass was superfluous. She chugged its contents like she was still in college, set it in the sink, and grabbed the bottle by its damp neck. As she was walking toward her bedroom, she heard her phone chirping, letting her know she’d missed a call.
She was going to ignore it, but then went back to check.
Just in case… In case Ethan had changed his mind and was calling her well after work hours? Stupid to hope so, but yet…
The call had come from an unknown number, but there was a message. Hi, Maisie! It’s Heather. It was so nice running into you today. What are you doing this weekend— Maisie deleted it. “Bitch,” she mumbled.
She carried the phone into the bedroom, tossed it on the bed, and turned on the TV. An advertisement for a cruise line was playing. The sight of the actors’ beaming faces filled her with the sudden desire to smash things.
She turned away from the TV and caught her reflection in the freestanding mirror on the other side of the room. Her long hair was falling out of its messy bun—she’d hastily pulled it up before painting. Her breasts seemed swollen beneath the white tank top, and one of her bra straps had slipped down.
Her panties were the same ones she’d worn to work. Trent had touched them. It was pathetic, but keeping them on made her feel closer to him.
Every ticking second took her away from that moment, though. A little sob caught in her throat, and she bit it back with a superhuman force of will.
Her gaze drifted to the side of the mirror and the long silver chain hanging from it. Her good luck charm, and look what had happened the one day she hadn’t worn it. The paper clip she’d added to the chain was out of sight, hiding behind the puffy heart pendant.
Or so she assumed. Maybe Ethan had some kind of magical magnet that could recall any office supplies that had left his building without permission.
Sighing heavily, she got into bed, burrowing under the covers even though it wasn’t cold out.
“It’s me and you, wine,” she murmured, and took a long, hearty swig.
The banging on her front door seemed to be coming from far away.
Maisie groggily sat up and looked at the alarm clock. There wasn’t much light, and she had to squint to get her vision to focus. It was almost eleven.
She picked up the remote and muted the TV.
The banging came again.
Maybe it was one of the neighbors. Had she turned off the radio when she finished painting? But she couldn’t hear it, so she must have.
If she ignored them, they’d go away. Eventually.
But they didn’t, so Maisie set the now-empty bottle on her bedside table and unsteadily got to her feet. She belched a little.
Maybe drinking on an empty stomach wasn’t the brightest idea she’d ever had.
And then she remembered why she’d done it.
Despair settled heavily over her, and she would have gotten back into bed and pulled the covers over her head, but the knocking at the door wouldn’t stop.
“I’m coming. Hold your fucking horses.” Her voice trailed off.
She stumbled down the hall, one arm in front of her because she’d forgotten to turn on the light, the fingers of her other hand grazing the wall.
She peered through the peephole, then blinked at the unlikely sight of Ethan Brennbach on the other side of the door.
“I’m not home,” she said. “Fuck off.”
“Yes, you are, and if you don’t open this door, I’ll break it down, and then I’ll put you over my knee and spank you—”
10
Maisie jerked the door open. “You can’t say things like that. My neighbors might hear.”
Ethan was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a gray blazer over a black T-shirt. His dark blond hair was styled differently, more casually.
Somehow, his scar was less jarring when he wasn’t all suited up for business. It was even… kinda sexy. It made him look dangerous, mysterious.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, his words clipped.
“None of your business.” If she hadn’t b
een holding on to the door and the wall, she would have been swaying.
Actually, maybe she was swaying. It wasn’t easy to tell at the moment.
“At least now we know why you haven’t been answering your phone.” Ethan barged into her apartment, passing an arm around her as he did so.
Good thing, too, because the hallway tilted. She told herself it was because of the lack of light; the little there was came from her bedroom, from the TV.
“I never said you could come in. Let me go.” Her words were slurred, but as soon as she caught her balance, she fought her way free from Ethan. She didn’t need or want his help.
Shaking his head, Ethan pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight. He located the light switches and flipped them on.
Suddenly it was too much: the lights, the sharp reek of paint…
She staggered toward the bathroom, her palm clamped over her mouth.
Ethan was beside her, his hands gathering up her hair as she crumpled over the toilet bowl.
“Go away,” Maisie said, or tried to say, and then she couldn’t speak at all.
Ethan was leaning up against her doorway, his arms crossed as he looked at her.
And she was… and she was… in her bed? How had she gotten there? And why did her mouth taste like she’d used too much toothpaste and hadn’t rinsed it out?
“We were worried about you,” he said.
Her brain felt scrambled, but there was one thing she was certain of. “It was really shitty the way you fired me.”
His eyes narrowed contemplatively. “We’ll have to disagree on that point. However, I didn’t want to fire you.”
As she stared at him, the room seemed to throb. Or maybe that was happening in her head. “If you didn’t want to fire me,” she said slowly, “then why did you do it?”
“You’re drunk, and I’m not going to waste my time explaining everything only to have to repeat it tomorrow. Drink.” He nodded at a glass of water sitting next to her bed.
She picked it up, but only because she was thirsty. It was cool and refreshing. For a moment she thought her stomach would revolt, but then the nausea passed. She drank half.
“More. Finish it.”
She drained the glass, then set it down. “So, I’m not fired?”
He laughed dryly. “No, you’re still fired.”
She tried to digest that but couldn’t. It was difficult to concentrate. Thoughts faded in and out, but one in particular endured. Ethan Brennbach was in her fucking apartment. How hot was that? “Your scar is sexy. You’re sexy. When you caught me in the street, I almost enjoyed the big O, right there in the middle of the sidewalk.” Her arms flew up expansively. “Can you imagine? If I’d known how big your cock was, I probably would have.”
Ethan looked horrified, and Maisie wasn’t sure why.
Smiling, she closed her eyes. “You don’t scare me, Ethan Brennbach.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“I have a rebuttal for that…” But she didn’t. “You make me want to be a better secretary.”
Ethan sighed heavily.
As she started to drift off, she became aware that Ethan had crossed the room and was sitting on the edge of the bed. He tilted back and forth… Was he dancing?
Through her giggles, she heard him kick off his shoes.
Then he was getting into bed with her, and the giggles evaporated. His body was stiff, as if this kind of tenderness made him uncomfortable. Her hand moved toward him and encountered a T-shirt.
Hard abs underneath.
She really should take advantage of that.
The next time she opened her eyes, it was morning, and someone was banging around in her kitchen.
Ethan, she thought.
He’d come to her last night. Nothing could have happened… She was still dressed, and while she didn’t remember much other than Ethan showing up…
Showing up? Try throwing up.
She groaned and buried her face in her hands. Her gorgeous, heroic boss had watched her puke.
“You’re awake.”
The female voice jolted Maisie out of her humiliation. She grabbed out frantically for the blankets, an uncontrollable response to finding a stranger in her apartment. “Who the hell are you?” she asked, even though the woman was petite and wore a warm, unthreatening smile.
“Mr. Brennbach’s personal assistant. He let me in this morning.”
“Ethan has a personal assistant?” Maisie’s fingers had found the covers, but she gave up on trying to pull them over her lap. “How come I’ve never seen you?”
“He actually has two assistants. We run his life outside of the office.”
Maisie tried but failed to wrap her mind around the concept. “Where’s Ethan?”
“He’s meeting a client but didn’t want to leave you alone. I took the liberty of restocking your kitchen.” The woman winced a little, as if bracing herself for a scolding.
“Restock? As in… You went grocery shopping for me?”
The woman nodded. “Online. We have a delivery service.”
Maisie nodded, too, pretending that was completely normal. “Fantastic. That’s great. Thanks.”
“Oh, I’m relieved to hear you say so. Mr. Brennbach’s instructions were to treat you as if you were part of his family. I also ordered a few things for the bathroom.”
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I complain about getting free groceries.” Maisie smiled, but then she remembered again that she was unemployed.
Funny how that little detail kept wanting to flee her consciousness.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. By the way, I’m Maisie Novau.” Which the woman likely knew.
The woman made a half-curtsey. “Esmerelda Choate. Call me Elda.”
“Nice to meet you.” Maisie wondered what kinds of purchases Elda was empowered to make on her behalf. Could she… write a rent check, for example?
Thinking like that made her feel a little sick, but she’d spent four of the last six weeks unemployed because the call center had replaced her almost right after she gave notice, and it had taken a month to get the job at LB&B.
Given the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to entertain qualms about accepting charity from the multi-gazillionaire who had fired her.
Fired her… He’d said something about that last night.
Had he said it was a mistake? She couldn’t remember.
“This is for you,” Elda said, pulling a folded note out of her pocket and stepping forward.
“What is it?”
Elda shook her head. “I didn’t read it.”
“Sorry,” Maisie said, accepting the note. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you had. I thought he might have said something to you, is all.”
“Nothing other than to treat you like family and give you that.” Elda retreated to the doorway. “I threw together a quiche. It’s in the refrigerator, but now that you’re up, I can put it into the oven. If you like.”
Who the hell “threw together a quiche”? Maisie glanced at the time and was horrified to discover it was already ten in the morning. “No need. I’m not a breakfast person. You can leave if you have other things to do.”
“My job today is to make sure you have everything you need. If you’d prefer to be alone, I’ll get out of your hair.”
“Yeah. My apartment is too small for more than one person.” Maybe not in strict terms, but the renovations had significantly reduced the portion that was usable.
“My card is on the counter.” Elda smiled warmly and walked away. A moment later, Maisie heard the front door open and close.
Only then did she look at the note. It was folded into quarters and taped closed. Maisie pressed at the corners to see if Elda could have read anything that way.
Nope.
She slid her finger under the tape and unfolded the note.
Maisie,
It seems there are some misunderstandings about yesterday. I’d li
ke to clear them up, but you can’t return to the office. Employees only. I’m sure you understand that it has to be that way at a law firm, for reasons of liability.
We expect to have time for you in the early afternoon. Please be ready to leave.
E.B.
“Your handwriting sucks.” She could tell he’d tried to be neat, because many of the letters had been printed, making it look a little like a ransom note, or the kind of note that Maisie sometimes slipped under a neighbor’s door when she didn’t want them to know who was complaining about the recycling left sitting in the hall for two weeks.
“Please be ready to leave.” She snorted and got out of bed, heading to the shower.
It was just like Ethan to expect her to get ready, then sit around waiting for him to summon her.
And it was just like her to find it kind of hot.
Because it reminded her of the times he’d told her to wait in his office.
11
The shower was a delight. Elda had gone way overboard with the restocking thing. Maisie had her choice of a half-dozen different shower gels and shampoos.
And after, she slathered a rich shea butter lotion over her knees and elbows.
Ethan hadn’t specified what kind of clothing she should wear. Since she obviously wasn’t going into the office, she chose a sexy V-neck dress with a seventies love-child paisley pattern. It was comfortable, sexy, and stylish. Normally she matched it with a pair of sandals with straps that laced halfway up the calves, but today she chose a pair of reddish-brown knee-high boots.
“Groovy,” she said to her reflection as she tied the matching belt around her waist. Finally she put on the silver necklace.
She adjusted the heart pendant so the paper clip wasn’t in view. She’d picked it up off the floor on her first day of work, shortly after things with her bosses had started to escalate.
Remembering the dominant expression on Trent’s face as he ordered her to her knees made her shiver with excitement and fear.
Excitement because last night she’d thought she might not see any of them again, and fear because if she didn’t play her cards right, that outcome was still possible.
Triple Jeopardy (Lawyers Behaving Badly Book 2) Page 6
